


Familiarity

by unfolded73



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Maureen Swan-Jones, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 00:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10559952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfolded73/pseuds/unfolded73
Summary: This alludes to some other headcanon I have for Maureen Swan-Jones, whom you met in Homecoming.  This is dedicated to my husband, who should be flattered that I stole so many things from our conversations to write this.





	

Killian pulled her close, swaying to the music. “How long has it been since we danced, Swan?”

Emma snorted, ignoring the pinch of her high-heeled shoes as they moved in a circle on the dance floor. “It’s been a while.”

“That’s a travesty, is what that is. I should have been dancing with you every day.” His lips brushed against her cheek, making her shiver. Emma leaned into her husband, feeling a tiny bit dizzy. She’d had a few glasses of wine over the course of the evening, which was a lot more than she tended to drink these days, and she could feel the effects: a floaty feeling in her head, and the warm sense that she loved everyone and everything in the room.

“I think we had other priorities than to dance with each other every day, Killian.”

She felt his hook press against the small of her back, pulling her in closer. “Impossible. What were we thinking?”

Emma stroked the back of his suit coat, smiling. “Mostly about keeping ourselves and the people we love alive. And about work, laundry, the garden, school–”

“All right, all right, Swan, you made your point.” His foot brushed against hers as they moved, and she considered accusing him of almost stepping on her toe, but discarded the idea. Now wasn’t the time for giving him shit, now was the time for feeling like she loved everyone in this room, especially the man she was dancing with.

No, she corrected herself, especially the _bride_.

“Maureen looks so beautiful,” Killian said, as if he could read her mind. It wasn’t even remarkable anymore, the way his thought process mapped to hers.

“You’re such a proud dad. Father of the bride.” Emma grinned widely, her hand moving up to stroke the back of his neck, combing into his silver hair.

“I wonder if Dave felt this way when we got married,” he mused. “Maybe not, maybe he was too focused on the fact that I was a blackguard and a scoundrel, stealing away his daughter.”

“I think you’re getting confused in your old age, pirate. According to my recollection, Dad got drunk and gave you a tearful hug at our wedding.”

Killian laughed and turned to look at the table where her parents were sitting. “He may be well on his way there again, love. And if I know your mother, she’ll be challenging any opponents she can find to a game of chance or skill before long. The larger and more threatening the opponents, the better.”

“You wanna go join her, don’t you?” Emma asked. Their dancing rotated them so that she could see her parents now and the way her mother was gesticulating with wide arms at her dinner companions while her father smiled happily, leaning back in his chair.

“Perhaps later.” He leaned in and kissed her on the lips briefly. “Right now I’m dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“That’s our daughter. Or perhaps her new wife.”

She watched as Killian looked across the dance floor at the two women in question, making a face as if he was evaluating their relative beauty. Then he shook his head. “It’s no use, I’m irreparably biased toward my own daughter.”

Emma just smiled fondly, and when they’d turned again, she watched Maureen dance with her bride. “She’s finally happy,” she murmured.

“I hope so.” One slow song ended and another one began, and while Emma would have liked to get off her feet, she was enjoying being in Killian’s arms on the dance floor too much to stop. “It’s been a hard road for her, getting here,” he continued.

“Yeah.” Emma rested her head on her husband’s shoulder. She could tell the moment he sensed she was tired, and he stopped spinning them around, limiting their movement to a simple back-and-forth swaying. “She spent a long time rebelling against the whole… you know.”

“Legacy of True Love?”

“That’s the title of the romance novel I’m writing, did I tell you?” she joked, but she could tell by Killian’s expression that he was feeling too many feelings to play her game. He just smiled fondly, his eyes trained on his daughter. Emma closed her eyes, moving her head into the crevice where his shoulder met his neck and inhaling. She felt a little frisson travel down her spine, and she shivered, resuming the stroking of her fingers on his neck.

Killian chuckled. “Are you feeling randy, my darling?”

“I can’t help it,” Emma huffed. “We’ve been together for thirty years, Killian. By now my brain is basically hardwired to associate the smell of you with sex.”

She felt rather than saw his smile. “What a romantic notion; that should be part of the wedding vows.”

“‘I promise to fuck you, in good times and bad, until I can no longer imagine doing anything else when we stand close to each other.’” Emma said in a mock-arch tone, then giggled at her own joke.

“‘I vow to become so well acquainted with the flavor of your cunt that I can tell when you got lunch from that Indian place’,” Killian responded, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening with mirth.

“Killian, oh my God.” Emma slapped her hand over his mouth, blushing and glancing around to see if anyone near them on the dance floor heard him. His eyes sparkled with delight that he’d surprised her. “We should write wedding vows,” he spoke through her fingers.

“Or greeting cards,” Emma said, returning her hand to the back of his neck. “Like husband and wife Valentine’s cards or something.”

“Clearly we missed our calling, going into law enforcement,” he said.

Emma snorted. “Please, Storybrooke would be a burning, ruined husk if we hadn’t.”

“True.” She felt his hook move up and gently move a loose tendril of hair off of her neck. “Did I mention that your hair is lovely tonight, love?”

He had, but the fact that he was commenting on it again made the time in the hairdresser’s chair more than worth it. Emma brought her own hand up and patted her complicated up-do gently. “Glad you like it.”

“I very much do.” He studied it for a moment. “You know, you don’t have to keep coloring your hair if you don’t want to. You would be just as beautiful with your natural color.”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying my roots are showing? Because I just had it done–”

“Swan,” he groaned.

“I like it this way,” she said. “I don’t color it for you, I color it for me.”

“All right.”

“Besides,” she said, and then wondered if she should keep her mouth shut. Wondered if this was the worst possible place and time to bring up the thought that had occurred to her the last time she’d let her roots grow out a little bit. Killian was looking at her, waiting for the rest of her sentence, and she swallowed awkwardly. “Besides, if I let it go natural, it might remind you of… you know.”

This time, he didn’t know. He couldn’t follow her brain down every path, it turned out. “What?”

“If you see me with gray hair, it might remind you of me when I was the Dark One,” she blurted, holding her breath for his reaction.

Killian just smiled, unperturbed. “I haven’t thought of that in a long time. I mean, are you planning to wear leather dominatrix gear if you go to your natural hair color? Because if so, then maybe it will bring that to mind. Otherwise I don’t think so.” He kissed her quickly. “Not that I’m saying no to the leather dominatrix gear, mind you.”

“Shut up.”

He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling in thought. “‘When I look at you, you bring as many depraved, deviant thoughts to my mind as you did the day we met.’”

“What the hell are you saying now?”

Killian grinned. “For the greeting cards we’re going to write in our retirement.”

The song ended, and fast one started. Emma watched as Maureen’s friends poured onto the dance floor, and she took Killian’s hand to lead him off of it. She needed to sit down, and maybe have another glass of wine.

“You thought depraved thoughts about me the day we met?” she asked.

“Yes, as I’ve told you many times,” he said with exaggerated patience.

Emma grinned, pulling him over into a dark corner of the reception hall. She nuzzled into his neck again, letting his scent fill her nose. “Tell them to me again.”

**Author's Note:**

> This alludes to some other headcanon I have for Maureen Swan-Jones, whom you met in Homecoming. This is dedicated to my husband, who should be flattered that I stole so many things from our conversations to write this.


End file.
